Whiskey Rebellion (Romantic Mystery/Comedy) Book 1 (Addison Holmes Mysteries)

by Hart, Liliana

  Derek didn’t think about keeping the news of Greg’s infidelity in the family and handling the matter quietly. He went directly to the videographer so the whole thing would be caught on film and made an announcement to the attendees from the vestibule.

  Greg and Veronica raced off in our limo and used our honeymoon tickets to frolic in the Bahamas for two weeks, while I faced a crowd of two hundred. I didn’t get married that day, but the non-wedding got a hell of a write-up in the Whiskey Bayou Gazette, and I still have wedding cake in my freezer, which is always a plus.

  A glance at the clock showed me I’d sufficiently slept in long enough to miss church. I rolled out of bed, suddenly wide awake, and threw on a robe. I weaved my way around buckets filled with water on my way to the kitchen, and went through the routine of making coffee, ignoring the red flashing light on my answering machine while I waited for the coffee to percolate.

  “Come on, come on.” I shifted back and forth on my feet impatiently. I couldn’t take it any longer, so I poured half a cup and drank it down quickly, sighing as the cobwebs cleared from my mind.

  I refilled my cup, opened the refrigerator door and stood there a few minutes, wondering what I could do with one egg, a slimy head of lettuce, two bottles of ketchup and a six-pack of Corona. I closed the door with a sigh and made a note to stop by the grocery store.

  The red light from the answering machine was making my eye twitch, so I forgot about eating and went to play my messages.

  I hit the play button and fell back into an overstuffed chair to await the inevitable.

  “Addison? Are you home? This is your mother.”

  She always says that, like I’m not going to recognize her voice.

  “Why did a policeman bring you home? You’re not in trouble are you? Make sure you let me know if you need bail. I was thinking about buying a new washer and dryer. Why aren’t you ever home?”

  Click.

  I did some deep breathing and relaxed further into the chair while I waited for the next message.

  Beep.

  “Addison? It’s your mother again. I wanted to remind you about services this morning.”

  There was a small stretch of silence after this announcement and the disapproval came through the recording loud and clear.

  Click.

  Beep.

  “I saw you yesterday,” the voice said.

  I sat up straight and spilled hot coffee on my hand. “Ouch dammit.”

  “I watched you dance for me on stage.” The voice was distorted and I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.

  The spit dried up in my mouth and my flesh pebbled with chills, despite the fact my air conditioner wasn’t working.

  “Naughty, naughty, Addison. I never would have guessed you’re such a bad girl. I wonder what the fine, upstanding citizens of Whiskey Bayou would think if they knew your secret.”

  I’d been wondering the same thing myself and had come to one conclusion—it couldn’t be good.

  “But don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. For now. And my condolences on Bernard Butler’s demise. He must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like you.”

  A shrill laugh came through the recording that had chills snaking down my spine, and fear like nothing I’d ever experienced caused my skin to go clammy with the sweat and had spots dancing in front of my eyes.

  The banging at the door made me shriek and drop my coffee mug onto the rug, spilling the rest of the contents. I looked for the closest weapon, but all I saw was a bunch of decorative pillows and a dozen or so candles that I used when the lady in the apartment below mine makes deep fried tofu.

  “Open the door, you lazy bitch.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding with a nervous laugh. I knew that voice. I scrambled to my feet and wondered how I’d ended up crouched in a little ball between the sofa and the wall. I braced my hand on the doorframe and tugged on the knob. The door pulled open with a creak of rusty hinges and swollen wood.

  “You’ve got to get out of this place. It’s a disaster waiting to happen,” Kate McClean said as she breezed by me and threw a bag of donuts on the short bar that’s attached to my kitchen.

  Kate was short, about five-foot-two, though she’d argue with God Almighty himself and insist she was an inch taller. Her chin-length blonde hair was cut in an easy to maintain style and her face was scrubbed free of makeup. We were the same age, but if I were meeting her for the first time I’d think she was still in high school. She’d already changed out of her church clothes into her habitual outfit of torn jeans and a white t-shirt. She avoided the water buckets and peeling linoleum like a pro and poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “Which is why it’s being condemned,” I said as I finally shouldered the door closed.

  I opened the bakery bag and breathed in the fresh scent of warm pastries and decided my mom must be representing me pretty well at church because God sent donuts instead of making me eat slimy lettuce.

  “Forget the coffee,” I told her. “It’s after noon, and everybody knows if you eat donuts after noon you’re supposed to wash them down with beer.”

  “Hmm, I’d forgotten that rule,” she said.

  I handed Kate one of the Coronas and grabbed another for myself.

  “Your mom wanted me to make sure you were still alive since you haven’t bothered to return her phone calls,” Kate said. “And she wanted me to let you know that she saved you a seat next to her this morning just in case you decided to show up.”

  “Ah, it’s so nice that my mother can send the guilt through you. I can’t even get decent Chinese food delivered here, but guilt—”

  “Hey, what are friends for?”

  “Donuts and shopping.”

  I ate a powdered donut then an apple fritter so I could get a healthy serving of fruit in for the day.

  “I saw Greg this morning,” Kate said after a while.

  “Good for you. Did he get struck by lightning?”

  “Not that I know of. He’s been sitting in the front row every week. Maybe he’s trying so hard because he wants you back. Veronica wasn’t with him this morning.”

  “Ha, there’s no way he wants me back, and I wouldn’t have him anyway. He’s sitting in the front row doing heavy repentance because I heard he’s losing clients by the handful. Apparently, it makes people a little uneasy when their insurance agent is caught cheating.”

  “Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that,” Kate said.

  “Besides, he and Veronica are most definitely still together. She tries to corner me at school on a regular basis so she can give me the explicit details.”

  “What a bitch,” Kate said.

  “You’ll get no arguments from me. I go out of my way to avoid her now because she brought pictures of them in the act and left them in my school mailbox.”

  To say that Veronica Wade and I have a history is an understatement. Every woman in the world knows there’s always one girl you go through school with that makes life miserable. It’s the same girl who dumps water on you and tells everyone you wet your pants. The one who ties your shoelaces together and puts itching powder in your gym clothes. Juvenile bullying at its finest. But then high school comes along and things start to change. Body parts develop and teeth become straight. Tanning beds, nail salons and highlights are discovered. And suddenly the attention shifts.

  I’d always been the scrawny kid with freckles, an overbite, and frizzy hair. Veronica had been the delicate piece of dandelion fluff with a cherub’s dimpled smile and sparkling blue eyes. The one who could charm herself out of any situation with her cuteness. But the cuteness wore off by the time she hit freshman year as she grew taller and started to resemble something more along the lines of a beanpole. Breasts and hips never found a home on Veronica and the dandelion fluff hair turned dark at the roots. My mother liked to say that Veronica was as ugly as homemade sin. Needless to say, Veronica didn’t take the changes high school brought gracefully. Meaning t
he stuff she’d done to me in elementary school was nothing compared to what she did to me in high school.

  And maybe I didn’t help matters any by relishing in the newfound attention my own breasts brought me. I might have accidentally put dead fish in the trunk of her car and slipped the wrong answers to a test inside her locker, but it was only because she started it. If she hadn’t put superglue on my oboe reed (the results of which ended in very painful surgery on my part) or loosened the bolts on my desk so it fell apart as soon as I sat down (also resulting in pain), then I never would have even considered having such a long standing rivalry with Veronica Wade.

  She was my archenemy. My nemesis. We were Elizabeth Taylor and Debbie Reynolds. Or Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls. It got to the point where the school counselors automatically put us in separate classes just to avoid the aftermath. That we’d both ended up teaching at the same school we’d spent the worst years of our lives in was irony at its finest. The fact that Veronica went away to college and came back with massive breasts, white-blonde hair, a new perky nose, cheek bones that could cut glass and a giant chip on her shoulder seemed to go unnoticed by most people. But not me.

  “So what did you do?” Kate asked.

  “I told her to lay off the Twinkies because her ass looked huge in one of those pictures.”

  “Good thing she got those breast implants to even everything out.”

  Kate and I finished off the last two donuts with a lot of finger licking and sighs. I couldn’t think of a better way to start a Sunday afternoon.

  “You know what you need, Addison?” Kate asked. “You need to get back out there. Ever since the wedding you’ve gone into hiding. You haven’t dated anyone and the only people you ever spend time with are your widowed mother, your fourteen-year-old students and me. You know, Mike’s cousin just broke up with his girlfriend, and he’s always been attracted to you.”

  Mike was Kate’s husband of two years, and I’d met Mike’s cousin. He wasn’t my type at all, which is mostly the story of my life, a.) because he looked like one of my students and b.) because he couldn’t control the copious amounts of spittle that came from his mouth whenever he said a word that began with S. I was belatedly coming to the conclusion that I was nobody’s type.

  “I don’t have the time to date right now, Kate,” I said, trying not to hurt her feelings.

  “Nonsense, I’m not taking no for an answer on this one. I’m giving you an intervention to save you from becoming a lonely old maid. You’re one step away from adopting a herd of cats. Trust me on this.”

  I didn’t argue with her because I’d found myself standing outside of Grueber’s Pet Shop last week looking in the big front window at all the kittens.

  “Are you going to tell me why you really came by?” Changing the subject seemed like a good idea.

  “Damn, I thought the donuts would lull you into complacency so I could be sneaky about it.”

  “I’m your best friend. Best friends can’t be sneaky and get away with it.”

  “Well, I’m a private detective. It works differently with me.”

  I rolled my eyes and waited for her to get to the point, though I was pretty sure I already knew what it was.

  “I hear you had a pretty eventful day yesterday,” she said carefully.

  “It depends on what you mean by eventful.” I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the dead body or the stripping. I didn’t want to give myself away. There were some things that even best friends shouldn’t know about.

  “I’m talking about the fact that you stumbled over the body of your principal in the parking lot of one of the seediest titty bars in Savannah. The Foxy Lady parking lot has seen more criminal activity in the last month than Whiskey Bayou has seen in a hundred years.”

  “Well they didn’t exactly advertise that fact in the newspaper,” I mumbled. I would pick the most dangerous strip club in Savannah to get a job at.

  “What was that?” Kate asked with an arched eyebrow.

  “Nothing,” I said. “It was just bad luck. I’ve got to go give a statement at some point, but I’m not a suspect of anything.”

  “Of course not. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. The police would know in the first thirty seconds of talking to you whether you killed him or not. Just make sure you don’t put off giving your statement. It’ll just piss off the detective in charge if he has to come hunt you down.”

  My nipples came to attention, and I shivered as I thought about Nick Dempsey. I was going to have to see him again, no matter how mortified I was at my behavior from the previous day. A small part of me was looking forward to our next meeting. The other part of me wanted to move to Alaska and forget Nick Dempsey had ever crossed my path.

  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve avoided telling me what you were doing in that parking lot. I still have a lot of contacts you know. I could find out if I wanted to.”

  “I’m going to plead insanity at this point. All you really need to know is that I’ll never be able to make a career as a professional dancer.”

  “I knew that already,” Kate said. “I saw you at our senior prom.”

  “Huh. I guess since you’re so smart about all these things you can tell me how to get a second job that will pay me a lot of money in a very short period of time.”

  “Maybe Mattress Mattie will let you rent out a room by the hour. It is the oldest profession after all, and she always has cars in front of her house.”

  “You’re not helping. I’m almost desperate enough to consider it. Look at this place. I have to be out of here in sixty days, and I’ll set up a tent in the back of my classroom before I move back home with my mother. I have water leaks and clogged drains and plaster falling from the ceiling into my T.V. dinners.”

  “I don’t understand why you need money so badly. You’ve got a good job with the school, and it’s not like this place is costing you a lot to live in.” Kate looked around at the crumbling walls and warped floors, obviously not impressed with anything she saw. “I guess your car payment is probably pretty hefty, but it’s a sexy car. You’ve got an image to maintain after all.”

  “Yeah, and I have the speeding tickets to prove it,” I said, more depressed than ever. Leave it to Kate to paraphrase my life in just a few seconds. “There’s a vacant house for sale on Hutton Street I want to buy, but I don’t have enough yet for the full down payment. I paid an initial five thousand dollars just to get things started. I’ve done all the paperwork and assured John Hyatt at the bank that I’d have the rest of the money by the end of sixty days.”

  “That’s not a lot of time,” Kate said.

  “Thanks for reminding me. I appreciate the help.”

  I was an idiot for thinking I could get that much money in such a short period of time. My eye twitched so I grabbed another beer from the fridge and pressed it to my lid to relieve the pressure.

  The great thing about living in a small town is that institutions like banks make certain allowances that most big mortgage companies never would. Like not making sure I actually had enough money before allowing me to purchase a house. It’s a love-hate situation, because John Hyatt, the bank president, also has a bad habit of telling everyone in town how much you qualify for and what kind of shape your checking account is in. I’m one of those people who live paycheck to paycheck. I might live in a dump, but my car is new and I always have good shoes. There are worse things in life.

  “It probably wasn’t a good idea to tell John Hyatt you’d be able to get the rest of the money that soon,” Kate said. “You know how he has that superiority complex and likes to make sure the little people know where they belong. He’ll make up a horrible story about you and spread it around town if you don’t keep your word. Remember when that awful rumor about Mary Gantz went around? He told everyone she’d defaulted on her car loan because she was paying so much in medical bills to treat a stubborn case of gonorrhea.”

  “He started that rumor?” I asked, shoc
ked. “She’s still in therapy over the scandal it caused. What a horrible man.”

  “Exactly my point. Don’t cross John Hyatt. How much are you short?”

  “About five thousand dollars, which is why I need another job.”

  “If you need one that badly, I could let you do some surveillance work for me at the agency. We’re a little overburdened at the moment. Adultery and fraud are up this month.”

  Kate had been a police officer for two years before deciding she wasn’t a team player, so she quit and opened her own private investigations office between Whiskey Bayou and Savannah.

  The McClean Agency was one of the most popular in all Georgia. Kate had kept friendly relations with her contacts in the police department, and she still got to carry a gun. Sometimes I was a little jealous of the gun. It made her look really cool and important whenever we went out to dinner somewhere. All I ever got to carry around was a bunch of ungraded term papers.

  “I’m glad business is good for you,” I said, perking up at the thought that someone else’s misfortune could be money in my pocket. “What would I have to do?”

  “It’s a pretty easy job. I’ll give you some files on the people we’ve been hired to investigate and you follow them around and take pictures. You’re not licensed so you can’t meet with clients and you’ll have to keep accurate records so I can write the reports. We’ll put you on the payroll as an independent contractor and pay you a hundred dollars a night. You only have to make sure the targets don’t see you.”

  “A hundred dollars a night! I bet Mattress Mattie doesn’t make a hundred dollars a night.”

  “Mattress Mattie doesn’t have teeth, Addison. I don’t think you can compare the two.”

  “Whatever. I’ll take the job. If I do work for you in the evenings and eat Top Ramen for every meal, I might just be able to pull this off. This is great. Thanks.”

  “What are friends for? Stop by the office after school tomorrow and you can fill out the paperwork.”